


Dinah Makes an Exhibition of Herself

by EdwardHyde10



Category: Sidneyverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:08:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28158072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdwardHyde10/pseuds/EdwardHyde10
Kudos: 3





	Dinah Makes an Exhibition of Herself

Dinah Makes an Exhibition of Herself  
By  
Edward Hyde

Dinah stood behind the glass, looking out at the sea of faces peering at her and wondering if she should wave or just stand stand still and let them look. The pretty, olive-skinned nine year old who had long dark hair, big dark eyes and was just on the right side of chubby had visited this museum many times in the past, like everyone from her town and others near by, and had spent a fair amount of time looking through this very glass. Just never before from this side, and never before in the nude!

Given the almost total lack of other attractions in the town and the relatively broad scope and low entry cost of the museum, it had been the location of nearly every school trip and bad-weather family outing she could remember. Whatever they had officially come to look at, no visit was complete without a trip to the display for which their strange little local museum was nationally famous. 

Lined up, behind thick glass, as they had been for over a hundred and fifty years, were twelve naked, human figures, six male, six female, arranged in pairs according to age and intended to show the physical differences at different stages of development. The first two, on a raised platform, were very young babies, almost new-borns. Next was a pair of young children around the age of four or five, then a pair just before the onset of puberty, aged somewhere between nine and eleven, then a pair in their mid-teens, a pair of young adults, maybe nineteen or twenty years old and finally a middle-aged couple. Such displays were not, in themselves, so unusual. The Natural History Museum in London had one similar with single-colour, anatomically correct mannequins and similar displays could probably be found in museums of a scientific inclination all over the country but there was one thing that made the display in Dinah’s local museum totally unique.

Instead of mannequins and wax-works, the figures were the preserved and mounted skins of real people, their skeletons displayed behind them so their inner structure could be compared with the outer. A plaque by the side of the babies, bearing the official story behind the figures, explained that the people who had been stuffed were cadavers purchased from among those who died at the local work-house by a public-spirited local businessman, keen to advance the knowledge of science and human biology among the working classes. There had been rumours for and speculation for many years, however, fuelled by the occasional report of the discovery of a diary, account books or a death-bed confession and mostly prompted by the generally healthy appearance of the specimens that they had not simply suffered a fortuitously coincidental collection of accidental and natural deaths but rather that living people had been purchased from the Workhouse authorities before being killed and skinned to create this famous display. It was observed by those who speculated that this would be consistent with the way the upper echelons of Victorian society viewed those beneath them.

For her part, it had never really occurred to Dinah to engage in such speculation and, like most girls of her age had spent most visits simply giggling at the willies on the male figures, especially that of the teenage boy which was surprisingly small compared to the young man and made even funnier by the confidence of his pose. She knew most of the boys liked to look at the boobs on the teenage girl and young woman and that everyone laughed at how saggy the middle-aged woman’s were, since she had borne several children. When she was very little, she had thought they were real, living people just standing very still, much like she was doing now, and wondered if they ever got hungry or bored and if they minded being looked at with no clothes on. As she grew older she had come to understand that they were dead people by how they had died or why these particular people had been chosen had never really bothered her. After all, they had been dead a very long time so did it even really matter?

There had been some restoration work on the figures over the years, of course, and it was part of the museum volunteers’ routine to gently dust them off and check for any damage or deterioration but there was never anything that significant. Until the day that a certain infestation of some kind of black fungus was found on the back of the leg of the pre-pubescent girl. At first it had simply been scraped off but when it returned only a day or two later, the infected patch of skin was carefully removed and filled in with soft wax. But no more than a week later, the fungus appeared on her back and then, over the next few days, her chest, neck, arms, face and almost every other part of her body. There were attempts to treat the taxidermy chemically but to no avail. The fungus began to eat away at the up-until-now preserved skin, leaving large sections looking as if they had been raggedly torn out. Eventually, after removing the figure from the display and isolating it for a few days, it was decided that it must be destroyed to prevent the spread of the fungus to the other figures. To the sorry of everyone who knew it was happening, the stuffed Victorian girl was incinerated. 

This left the museum and indeed the whole town with a problem. Were they to simply leave the display incomplete? Replace the lost girl with a picture or waxwork? Various suggestions were put forward, these along with others such as paying live girls to stand in the place of the figure, were dismissed as either impractical or against the spirit of the original display. Eventually, to the surprise of the local residents and great interest of the National and even Internation press, it was decided that a new volunteer would be sought to be stuffed, mounted and replace the Victorian girl in the display. At first, it was agreed to wait three months to see if a suitable corpse could be found but, when the end of the waiting period came with no cadaver available, it was finally agreed that a young girl could be euthanised to provide the new exhibit. 

That is where Dinah’s involvement in these events began. 

The curator of the museum had been round all the local Junior schools to talk to the pupils about the history of the museum and its importance to the community, with special emphasis on the unique exhibit that people came from all over the country to see, bringing money and business into their otherwise quiet little town. Although they had stopped short of directly asking for volunteers to take the place of the Victorian girl, it was explained that they would be looking to replace her in due course and what an honour it would be for the girl who was chosen. 

The actual campaign to find a new subject was, rather surprisingly, launched on a National TV show – a magazine program aimed at children around the necessary age. One of the presenters, along with a camera crew, had come to the museum to interview the curator about the search and ask some of the local children what they thought about it. Dinah’s class was lucky enough to be selected to go on a visit to the museum that day and take part in the filming. Dinah even got to give her thoughts to the presenter, saying that she thought it was a good idea to replace the figure as the exhibit was so famous and she thought it was important that it should be a local girl as it was a local museum. When asked if she would like to be considered, she had admitted that she wasn’t sure but didn’t hate the idea. 

The interview stuck in Dinah’s head all afternoon and that evening, over dinner, she brought the subject up with her parents and asked what they would think if she were to say she was interested in volunteering. They had looked at each other for confirmation, having discussed this very issue privately earlier in the day when they, along with millions of others, had watched their daughter live on TV. After a short pause, her mum had explained that although they would be very sad to lose her, they would also be immensely proud if she was picked.

“You wouldn’t really be losing me!” Dinah had reminded them with a broad grin, “You could come and see me whenever you liked! And you’d never have to worry about where I was or if I was getting into trouble!” Both parents had laughed, relieved at the humour to break the rather tense moment, and hugged her. Less than half an hour later, the excited young girl was on the museum’s website filling in the application form.

“Mum? Dad?” She had called down the stairs, “Can you come up a minute?” Worried that something had happened to upset their little girl, both parents had run upstairs to see what was wrong. They found Dinah sat at the computer, frowning and pointing at a section of the application form. 

“What is it, sweetheart?” her mum had asked, leaning in to read the text on the screen over her shoulder. 

“They need naked photos of me.” Dinah explained, frowning a little, “And I don’t have any. You always told me I shouldn’t take pictures like that.” She reminded her parents who had always been very open with her about internet safety and stranger danger. “Not that I’d really want to anyway.” She added quickly, to reassure them. In truth, a big part of the appeal of volunteering was the idea that people would be looking at her bare body with no way for her to hide her modesty. Although she would never admit it to her parents, the idea gave her quite a thrill and caused a rather pleasant tingling between her legs. 

“Of course, dear.” Her mum had put a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. “And you’re right not to send pictures like that out to just anyone who asks but, for something like this, it’s okay. A bit like undressing for the doctor.” 

“We can take some in front of your wardrobe.” Her dad had suggested. “That’s a nice neutral background. Why don’t you get ready and I’ll go get my camera?”

“Good idea!” Her mum had agreed. “And if you get chosen then these pictures will make a nice memory of the day you applied!” With a smile, Dinah’s dad went to their bedroom to retrieve his camera from the junk drawer where it had resided since their last holiday.

“Do you think I’ve got a chance?” Dinah had asked nervously, her eyes even wider than usual. “Do you think they might pick me?”

“Well,” her mum had replied carefully, “it very much depends what they’re looking for. But there’s certainly no reason why you shouldn’t!” Dinah stood by the side of her bed and started to get undressed while her mum took the opportunity to read the details of the almost-filled in application. “Ooh it says here,” she spoke to her daughter without turning around, “that three finalists will be chosen from the girls that apply and the public will be invited to vote on who they want for the exhibit.”

“Ooh so I just have to hope they think I’m the prettiest!” Dinah had giggled. 

“Hey honey, looking good!” her dad had laughed, coming into the room brandishing his camera. Finding the camera itself but locating and SD card had proved a little more challenging. Her mum had swung the chair around to see her beautiful young daughter standing completely nude, her hands on her hips and swinging her hips from side to side teasingly showing off her naked body to her dad who seemed to be quite enjoying what he saw. 

Dinah had stood in front of the plain white wardrobe door, standing straight, looking forward, her feet shoulder-width apart and her arms by her side as the instructions on the application form stipulated. Once her dad was satisfied he had got a suitable shot, she turned around to show her back and cute round bottom. After that, they had taken a few fun photos, with Dinah striking sassy poses or blowing kisses at the camera. 

“Do you want to get dressed now?” her mum had suggested, sat on the corner of the bed while her dad uploaded the photos to Dinah’s computer, ready to be attached to the application. “Or you could just put your pyjamas on if that’s more comfy?” 

“Nah!” Dinah had grinned, plonking her bare bottom down on her rather surprised dad’s lap, “I think I’ll stay like this!” With her dad’s help and her mum’s advice delivered over his shoulder, Dinah had selected the two photos which both met the requirements and, in her opinion, showed off her young body the most flatteringly. 

“Now are you sure about this?” Her dad had asked once the form was complete and ready to go. 

“Perfectly!” Dinah had grinned, tapping his hand out the way of the mouse so that she could click “Send” herself. More aroused than either cared to admit by the evening’s activities and the idea that their young daughter could soon be put permanently on display, exposed to the curious and lecherous eyes of the public for decades or even centuries to come, Dinah’s parents had left her room very quickly once the form was submitted and rushed straight to theirs where they made love more passionately and with more vigour than they had in years. Dinah herself had laid on her bed, imagining herself naked and displayed behind the thick glass for all to see, pleasuring herself with her fingers as she did so, for at least two hours before finally falling asleep. 

The next two weeks had been like torture for Dinah, waiting to hear about her application. Of course she understood that enough time had to be given for all those who wanted to be able to apply but still… She also could not help thinking about the nude photographs her dad had taken that had been sent with the application. Just how many people had seen them? Would they be passed around to the press? She could not deny finding the thought incredibly exciting and knew that the idea of people seeing her naked was one she would have to get used to if she really wanted to be the new addition to the exhibit!

Eventually, new arrived! Not in the form of an email as Dinah had been expecting and checking for at least every half hour since submitting the entry form, when she had access to the internet of course, but by letter. It came addressed to her personally. Something which, at nine years old, was quite a novelty and felt like a pretty big deal. Seeing the museum’s logo on the envelope and realising how important it would be for her daughter, Dinah’s mum had managed to resist opening it when the mail arrived around lunch time, setting it carefully aside in the kitchen ready for Dinah when she got home from school. After a while, she had needed to hide it in a cupboard to stop herself staring at it and wondering about steaming it open and resealing the envelope before Dinah got home and the three or so hours before her daughter arrived were some of the longest she had ever experienced. 

“Hey, sweetheart!” She had gushed when the rather tired young girl arrived home, “There’s a letter for you. It looks important!” 

“A letter for me?” Dinah asked, a little puzzled. The only time she ever received personal mail was in the week or so before her birthday when cards started arriving. The only exception was the occasional letter from the bank telling her the balance of the savings account her grandparents had set up for her when she was a baby but she never found those very interesting. She had been told many times that she could not have the money in it until she was eighteen so what was the point of caring about how much it was? She had taken the thick envelope from her mother’s hands and turned it around curiously, inspecting it. The logo stamped in the corner looked familiar but she could not place it at first then suddenly, all of a sudden, it hit her! 

Just at that moment, her mother had considered suggesting that Dinah wait until her dad came home from work to open it, despite how curious she herself was, so that they could all find out together, but it was too late. Dinah has torn the thick, cream-coloured envelope open and pulled out the letter inside, printed on the same high-quality paper. 

“Dear Miss Martinez,” she had read out loud, “We are delighted to inform you that you have been shortlisted for inclusion in the Human Development display in which you have previously expressed interest. We would like to invite you to attend a special Open Day at the Museum where you and the other two short-listed candidates will be presented to the public who will make the final choice. Please confirm your continued interest in this project and your intention to attend. Please be advised that, by accepting the public vote declared at close of business on the Open Day, the successful candidate will be deemed to have entered a contract with the museum and will be required to fulfil the associated obligations.” 

“What does that last bit mean?” Dinah had asked, looking questioning up at her mum. Mrs Martinez had taken the letter from her and noticed that the date of the open day, the time Dinah was required to attend along with the direct email address and phone number that could be used for confirming her attendance.

“I think it means that if they pick you on the day and you say yes or do interviews confirming you’ve been chosen and talking about how you feel, that sort of thing, then you can’t change your mind and back out a few days later.”

“Like I would back out!” Dinah had frowned. “Why would anyone apply if they weren’t really sure they wanted to do it anyway? It’s not like anyone was forced to enter!”

“I know,” her mum had explained gently, handing the letter back, “but some people love the idea of being famous or get caught up in the excitement of something and don’t really think about what it really means. After all, the girl who gets chosen is going to be killed. I know they will be famous and be on display for a long time in the future but they won’t be around to enjoy it.”

“I know that!” Dinah rolled her eyes. “Pretty hard to stay alive with your skeleton stood behind you and your insides replaced with sawdust but I guess some people are stupid! Don’t worry,” she had smiled at her mum, “if I get picked there’s no way I’m backing out!” Still unsure how she felt about the whole situation but wanting nothing more than for her daughter to be happy, her mum had simply hugged her very tight. When her dad had got home he had picked her up and twirled her around, sharing her delight in the news. Dinah had replied that very evening confirming her attendance. Fortunately the Open Day was scheduled for the following Saturday – much longer and Dinah was certain she would have burst with the excitement and anticipation!

And so now here Dinah stood, totally naked behind the thick museum glass, in front of the skeleton of a girl around her age who had died around a hundred and fifty years ago. She and the two other girls were rotating in fifteen minute shifts so that none of them would get too tired or bored and the public, who had been coming and going since opening time, would get a chance to look at all of them before casting their votes. It turned out that both Dinah’s rivals were friends of hers, one from school and the other from Brownies. She supposed this was to be expected given that the contest was only open to girls from the town and, as towns went, it was fairly small.

There was Nina Archer, an athletic black girl who wore her frizzy hair in two bunches. If the museum wanted the new exhibit to be the peak of physical perfection then Dinah had to concede that would be Nina. She had been going to gymnastics classes since she was three and always ate well. Her extremely toned body reflected that. The other contestant was Rebecca Calloway – a tomboyish, freckle-faced girl who usually wore her light brown hair in a messy plait down her back. Although not especially beautiful she had a certain cute prettiness and if the public decided to vote for the girl who most closely resembled the original then it would be her. Yet Dinah felt she was getting a very respectable amount of attention during her sessions. As always, her straight, jet-black hair was hanging loose past her shoulders. 

Dinah had expected to feel more self-conscious standing naked in front of anyone who cared to look since even if she was not picked, there would no longer be a single person in the town who did not know what she looked like in the nude! With the number of photos that were being taken, she was fairly sure her bare young body would be admired world-wide by the end of the week! Yet by the end of her first fifteen-minute shift, she found she was barely thinking anything of it. It was as if she was wearing a costume – dressed as a naked girl! In fact, as silly as she knew it was, the feeling that persisted more strongly was that of being star-struck, standing on this side of the glass next to the boy and close to the others who she had been visiting her whole life, or at least for as long as she could remember, and who’s pictures appeared in books and magazines around the world, not to mention web-sites and TV documentaries! It was as if these long-dead bodies were celebrities that she was getting to hang out with!

One hour before the museum was due to close for the day, it was announced that voting was now closed and all three girls were invited to come out to the lobby of the museum, where the public were gathered, waiting for the results. 

Right at the front were three couples – the parents of the girls who received an enthusiastic round of applause as they emerged, still naked, out of the office where they had been waiting and lined up to hear the results. The board of Trustees of the museum were sat at a long table, typical of press conferences, and a number of TV cameras were pointed at them and the girls who stood alongside, not to mention the personal camera, phones and video cameras waiting to capture this historic moment. The Director, a kind-faced man in his early sixties with thing grey hair and horn-rimmed spectacles stood up to speak. And expectant hush feel over the gathered crowd and Dinah was so nervous and excited she felt as if her heart may beat out of her chest! 

“First of all, we would like to thank you all for coming,” the man beamed at the assembled crowd, clearly no stranger to addressing the public, “and I’m sure you will all agree that all three young ladies are very beautiful and we would be proud to add any of them to our display!” There was an enthusiastic round of applause and a few encouraging hoots from the audience. Dinah felt herself blushing a little. “But of course,” the man continued, “there is only space for one. And so, without further ado, let us find out who you, the public, have voted for!” A white-haired woman seated next to him handed an envelope up to him which he opened without taking his eyes off the crowd. Sliding the card out from inside, he glanced down at it with a smile before making the announcement that everyone was waiting for.

“Well,” he chuckled, “it looks as if the vote was very close indeed! In fact,” he paused for a moment, making a quick mental calculation, “yes, there is less than fifty votes between the highest and the lowest results, so all three girls can feel very proud!” There was more applause but with a slightly more impatient tone. Everyone gathered was waiting to hear the result, none more so than the three naked girls who’s fate would be decided within the next few minutes. 

“In third place,” he began, “with three thousand, two hundred and seventy three votes is Nina Archer!” There was a slightly subdued round of polite applause as Nina, looking a little crestfallen but not devastated, took a little bow and returned to her parents who both closed around her to envelope her in a comforting hug. “In second place,” the Director continued, “with three thousand, two hundred and ninety six votes is Rebecca Calloway which means,” he continued without pausing as Rebecca made her way over to her waiting parents with an air of nonchalance suggesting she had not been too bothered either way about the outcome of the contest, “with three thousand, three thousand, three hundred and seventeen votes, the winner of this contest and the new addition to our famous Human Development exhibit will be Dinah Martinez!”

Dinah stood blinking, unsure quite how to process this news and feeling as if she were in the middle of some surreal dream as the applause erupted and people called out her name to get her attention while a seemingly infinite number of cameras flashed in her direction. The Director was now standing next to her, his arm around her shoulder. He then took her hand and held it up as if she were a boxer who had just won the grand title. As she gradually began to get her head around the situation, something strange caught her eye. A smartly-dressed men with slicked back hair was approaching the parents of the two girls who had not been selected. She could not hear what he was saying to them but he offered his card first to Nina’s father who frowned and shook his head, refusing to take it and pulling his naked daughter a little closer to himself, protectively. Rebecca’s father, on the other hand, took the card a little sheepishly and tucked it into his pocket while his daughter and wife looked at him with incredulity. 

“What’s going on there?” Dinah asked, looking up at the Director. “Who is that man?”

“He works for some rich collector.” The Director explained with obvious irritation in his voice. “We told him he was not allowed to approach any of you until the result had been announced. If I’m right, he’s offering your friends’ parents the chance to sell their daughters to his client for his private collection.” 

“I see.” Dinah nodded, wondering how she would feel about such an offer in their shoes.

“Don’t let it bother you.” The Director smiled down and her and beckoned her parents to come join them. “There’s much more exciting things to be planning! Come on, let’s get all the paperwork sorted then we can explain what needs to happen next!” 

“Okay, do please pull up a seat.” The Museum Director indicated a row of padded office chairs which Dinah and her parents made their selections from, placing them opposite the Director’s desk. Dinah got the strange feeling of being at a Parents’ Evening at school, making the fact that she was naked feel very strange indeed, almost like an anxiety dream. Sitting in the nude in this smart office between her two smartly-dressed parents felt far stranger than it had to stand in front of the public amongst the other naked figures. She wished she had asked to get dressed before coming in but she supposed it did not matter too much – the air in the room was reasonably warm and the cushioned seat felt comfy against her bare bottom. 

“Now Dinah,” the Director tapped a stack of papers on his desk to straighten them, “I’m required to ask you three clear questions to which I need you to answer either yes or no. If you do not understand the question, you’re welcome to ask for clarification.” He picked up a small recording device and pressed a button causing the red light to come on, showing that it was recording. “Ready?” He asked with a smile.

“Yes!” Dinah replied then added with a cheeky grin, “Was that the first question?” The Director made no reply other than to chuckle. 

“Okay,” he picked up the top sheet of paper from his stack, a printout of the email the museum’s legal team had sent him. Following the result of the vote, Dinah’s full name had been written in the relevant space in pen. “Here we go. Is your full name Dinah Maria Martinez?” 

“Yes.” Dinah replied with a firm nod. 

“Did you enter this contest of your own free will with no coercion or pressure from either family members, employees or anyone in any was affiliated with this museum?”

“Yes.” She replied again.

“Do you understand that, should you accept the obligations of this contract, your life will be terminated and your remains preserved to be placed on public display and that neither you nor your family will have right of veto in regards to either process, manner of display or future use?”

“Sorry,” Dinah frowned, “I think I know what you mean but before I answer, could you explain it slightly more simply, please?” The Director stopped the recording. 

“Of course.” He smiled. “I will need to record you giving your answer to the question as it’s worded here but basically it’s asking if you understand that you will be killed and your body displayed and that you will have no say over the way any of it is done or if, in the future, we decide to change to display, or make your body part of a different one. That sort of thing.”

“Ah, right!” Dinah nodded. “I thought that was what it meant but it sounded so complicated!”

“Yes I’m afraid that’s often the way with legal things,” he smiled understandingly, “the language has to be so precise. So, if you’re ready, I’ll start recording again and repeat the question so you can give your answer. Ready?” Dinah nodded and glanced up at her parents who were both beaming down at her, immensely proud of their little girl. 

“So,” the Director took a breath, preparing himself to repeat the mammoth question once more, “Do you understand that, should you accept the obligations of this contract, your life will be terminated and your remains preserved to be placed on public display and that neither you nor your family will have right of veto in regards to either process, manner of display or future use?”

“Yes!” Dinah replied with certainty this time. The Director looked relieved and switched off the recording device. Next there were papers to be signed, both by Dinah herself and by her parents, essentially transferring and right of ownership over their daughter’s body over to the museum and granting consent for her termination, legally classified as euthanasia. 

“So what happens now?” Dinah asked, after the boring stuff was out of the way. “Are you going to stuff me today?” 

“Oh no,” the Director chuckled, “although I’m glad to hear you’re keen to get started! I’ve arranged for the preservation team to meet with you tomorrow, take the measurements they need and suchlike and talk you through what you need to know about the process. Then, depending on how long it takes them to prepare what they need, we’ll have you back in three or four days for the actual process. In the mean time they’ve asked me to ask that you refrain from contact sports or any activities which may result in cuts and bruises, avoid preparing hot food and do not spend too long in the sun. Basically anything that might damage your skin that you wouldn’t have a chance to heal from.” 

Mrs Martinez then asked a few practical questions about any particular foods Dinah should try to eat or avoid and if there were any restrictions or requirements about bathing, washing her hair and that sort of thing. The Director assured her that it would be fine to continue with normal routines but that they should avoid introducing any new cosmetics, soaps or laundry detergents to eliminate risk of allergic reaction. It was also best to stick to foods that they knew Dinah had no adverse reaction to. 

“Oh but there is one more thing, I nearly forgot!” The Director opened the top drawer of his desk and rummaged around for a few moments before pulling out a tub of cream, apparently a kind of moisturiser. “They’ve asked that your rub this all over your skin twice a day, they recommend when you get up in the morning and before bed.”

“Should I start today?” Dinah asked as her mother took the tub and stowed it safely in her handbag. 

“Yes, that would be a good idea.” The Director smiled. “Maybe when you get home then when you’re getting ready for bed?” The excited girl smiled and nodded. “Lovely! Well, we’ve been through everything we needed to go through from our side so, if you have no further questions, I’ll have Dinah’s clothes brought through for her and you folk can get home for some well-earned rest! It’s been a long day for everyone!” 

The next day could not come fast enough as far as Dinah was concerned! She was anxious to meet the team of experts who would be preserving her cute young body and to learn exactly how it all worked. She wondered, for example, how they made sure everything stayed the right shape and how they got all the meat and bits off her skeleton so it would be displayed behind her. All the way home in the car she excitedly chattered, sharing her speculations and asking her parents, who had to keep reminding her that they had exactly the same amount of information she had, how they thought it might work. 

“Why don’t we go up to the bathroom and take a look at this cream?” Mrs Martinez suggested when they finally arrived home. The drive had taken less than half an hour but felt as if it had gone on for several days.

“Good idea!” Dinah grinned, racing up the stairs, staring to pull off her clothes as she went. About half way up, she had a though and paused, turning with her T-shirt off her head but only half way down her arms, and called to her dad. “Bring the camera!” She instructed him. “We should make a sort of diary about this whole thing!” 

“Good idea!” Mr Martinez grinned. “Go get ready, I’ll be up in a minute!” 

The drive to the museum the next morning seemed even longer than the drive home had the day before. Dinah was extremely eager to meet the team who would be preserving and mounting her skin. Her head was full of questions. How many would there be? Would they be men or women? Would they be friendly or very businesslike? She hoped that they would be willing to explain the process to her and talk about what was going to happen. 

That morning, her mum had helped her apply the special cream for the second time. It was some years since she had needed any help with bathing or washing herself but, given how important it was that no part of her lovely olive skin be missed, she had happily agreed to the help. Although she did not intend admitting it to her parents, the feeling of someone’s hands rubbing the cream all over her body while someone else took photographs of her provoked a very pleasing tingle. Now, in the car, the anticipation of what was to come made it hard for her to sit still – there was an itch between her legs in desperate need of scratching!

“Stop fidgeting!” Mrs Martinez laughed, interpreting her daughter’s wiggling as simply a sign of impatience. “We’ll be there soon!” A few minutes later they arrived at the museum. The confirmation email they received the night before had explained that, while the actual euthanasia and preparation of the specimen must be carried out in private with only the relevant personnel, Dinah’s parents were welcome to attend this initial session and that it would take approximately ninety minutes. It was still quite early in the morning and the car park was fairly empty so Mr Martinez had no trouble finding a space. The volunteer at the welcome desk, a sweet-faced lady in her late sixties, explained that the Director was not there that day but that the preservation team were all set up and waiting for them in the room upstairs usually used by school parties to eat their packed lunches. Dinah knew the room well, having eaten in there at least three times before. She wondered if it was also the room where she would die?

The little girl lead the way, happily bounding through the corridors to the stairs, her long black hair swishing from side to side as she bounced along. Reaching the room, she stopped short. A notice on the door stated:

“Private Meeting in Progress. Please Knock and Wait Before Entering”

Dutifully, Dinah knocked on the door and waited, her parents standing close behind her. The door was opened almost immediately by a young woman in a red checked shirt and brown hair in a messy bun. She smiled warmly when she saw them.

“Ah!” she grinned, “You must be Dinah! Is this your mum and dad?” Dinah nodded. “Lovely! Come on in, everyone!” She held the door open and ushered the Martinez family inside. The team seemed to consist of four people – the woman who had answered the door, a rather nerdy-looking young blonde man with floppy hair and thick glasses, a handsome black man who looked to be the oldest of the group, probably around the age of Dinah’s parents, and another lady around the same age as the one who had opened the door who looked to be either Indian or Pakistani. They all introduced themselves but, as always, Dinah found the new names difficult to take in, especially as she was only half listening. 

As much as she wanted to be polite, she could not help but be distracted by the intriguing paraphernalia that had been brought into the room. As well as the usual chairs and tables which had been pushed to the side there was what Dinah took to be a measuring device – a free-standing plank of wood with a sliding bar fixed near the top and increments marked out on the trunk. There was what appeared to be a featureless and oddly thin-looking shop mannequin around her height and a selection of tape-measures, note-books and cameras on one of the tables, behind which stood a photographic background like the ones school photographers use but with a grid marked out on it but, most intriguing of all was the taxidermied bodies of the younger girl and the boy Dinah’s own age that had been brought up from the display downstairs, presumably as a visual aid to explain what they would be doing to Dinah herself in a few days time. 

“Now, just to run through a couple of things,” the woman who had answered the door explained once the introductions were out of the way, “this session is as much for you as it is for us. We want you to enjoy it. Please do ask any questions as they occur to you and if you’re getting tired, or cold, or just need a break, please do say, is that okay?” Dinah smiled and nodded. “Oh and I’m afraid I must ask you not to discuss anything you see or hear today with anyone outside this room, that applies to you too.” She looked up at Dinah’s parents who smiled politely and nodded their understanding. “Our process is patented and we need to protect our copyright. That’s partly why there’s the sign on the door, as well as for your dignity of course.” Dinah wondered what they could possibly ask of her that was less dignified than standing stark naked in front of hundreds of gawping tourists but she was grateful for their consideration. 

“Are photos allowed?” Mr Martinez asked, holding up his camera, “Only we’re making a sort of photo-journal of this whole process with Dinah so we can have a sort of memento.” 

“Photographs for your own personal use are fine.” The woman smiled. “We just ask that they not be shared on any social media platform or published in any other way. I will need the three of you to sign these non-disclosure forms.” The blonde man who was clearly the most junior in status as well as being the youngest on the team handed out clipboards with forms on them. All three signed in the indicated boxes without paying too much attention to the forms themselves. Mrs Martinez skim-read hers but it seemed to be fairy standard – much the same as the woman had said but expressed in convoluted legalese. Once the forms were signed, they handed them back.

“Oh, there is one more thing before we begin.” The woman looked a little uncomfortable. “We’re sorry to impose this rule but again it’s to do with the preservation of patents, plus it’s probably better for you too,” she smiled uneasily at Dinah, “so you don’t get too hung up on it over the next few days. You understand that you will need to be euthanised in order for us to preserve your skin?” Dinah nodded and frowned, wondering why everyone seemed so obsessed with checking that she understood people couldn’t live without their skin? It was not as if she was three! “I’m afraid we cannot discuss the exact process of termination with you until the day itself. But I do promise you that every step is utterly necessary and as humane as it can be made.” Dinah shrugged. In a few days time she was going to be killed. The exact details as to how honestly didn’t interest her all that much. She was far more interested in learning how her pretty body was going to be preserved and displayed for generations to come. “So, I know I said to ask questions but that’s the one question I can’t answer. Not today anyway. Everyone on the same page?” The whole family nodded and the woman looked relieved. “Great! Then let’s get started. First of all, Dinah, I’m going to need you to remove your clothes.” 

While her parents found chairs and sat themselves off to one side where they would still have a good view of all that was going on but would hopefully not be in the way, Dinah did as she was asked. Pulling off her T-shirt, she looked around for where to put it, thinking to lay it over the back of a chair or something but the young intern, as he presumably was, brought her a cardboard box to put her things in for safe-keeping. Perching on the edge of a table, the topless girl untied her trainers and pulled off her socks then stood up and dropped her denim shorts before wiggling out of her light pink panties. With all her clothes safely in the box she stood naked and smiling with all eyes in the room on her. The three senior team members all rose from their seats and circled her appraisingly. Dinah couldn’t help but feel a little uncomfortable at their penetrating gazes but she knew that they were just doing their job, taking their first opportunity to form an impression of the specimen they had been tasked with preserving. The black man leaned in close to the Indian woman and spoke quietly while pointing at Dinah’s waist. The woman nodded and replied equally softly, pointing towards Dinah’s feet. The nude little girl wondered what they were discussing. The brown-haired woman who seemed to be the leader of the team joined them in their huddle. 

“Okay,” she knelt down to talk to Dinah while the other two began readying various pieces of equipment, “it’s absolutely no problem for today but from tomorrow we’re going to need you to only wear very loose-fitting clothes, and no underwear, I’m afraid. Stick to summer dresses or night-shirts, anything without elastic, and, if you go out, wear flip-flops on your feet. No socks.” 

“Sure!” Dinah smiled, getting a cheeky thrill at the idea of going to the park or the supermarket with no panties on under her floaty summer dress. “But why?”

“See here?” Dinah looked down to see where the woman was gently touching her skin. Where the top of her denim shorts had been there was a slightly red indentation, a very mild pressure-sore. “The moment you die, your body stops being able to heal itself. Things like this usually go away in under two hours, they’ll probably be gone by the time you get dressed again, but if you showed up on the big day like that and we had to wait before we could proceed because of it, it could cause quite a big delay and maybe mean that we didn’t get finished in time.” Dinah nodded. “Down here is the same.” The woman crouched lower and ran her finger around the lower part of Dinah’s calve. “Where the tops of your socks were.” Dinah lifted her other foot to take a better look. She had seen these indentations before of course, after getting undressed for the bath or bed, but had never thought too much of it. She totally understood the need to avoid them, however. It would be so embarrassing to stand for a hundred years or more with sock-marks round her legs because of her own carelessness! 

“Come over here, would you please?” The black man called to Dinah who obediently trotted over to the device that seemed to be for measuring height. “Okay, stand with your back to the post, please.” He instructed. “Straight as you can with head forwards and feet flat on the ground. That’s it!” He smiled then unclipped the sliding bar and lowered it until it rested on the top of her head. Once he was satisfied that it was accurately positioned, he locked it into place. “Great!” He smiled. “Just step out for me now?” Dinah did so and he recorded the height at which the bar had stopped.

Next he took a tape measure and asked her to stand in a relaxed pose while he took what felt like every possible measurement of her body. Dinah couldn’t help but giggle a little – it reminded her of when she was being fitted for a bridesmaid’s dress for her cousin’s wedding, although of course this time the measurements were for something that needed to go inside her body rather than outside. She knew she should have felt embarrassed having her nude body interrogated in this way but the man was so professional and relaxed in his approach that it actually felt quite normal. After all, she had spent more of the last two days naked than clothed that it was really starting to become no big deal!

Once the man was done with his measurements, the Indian lady called her over to the photography area and had her stand in a number of different poses against the grid while she took what seemed to be hundreds of photos with a tripod-mounted camera. The then took a smaller, handheld camera and took an equal number of close-ups of every part of Dinah’s face and body. Something this felt far more intrusive than the measuring but the pretty young girl put up with it without complaining, knowing that it was all part of what she had signed up for. Mr Martinez was taking his own photos from his seat at the side but resolved to ask if they might have copies of some of these official ones once the process was completed. 

Next, Dinah was asked to sit while the intern held up glass eyes in various shades of brown next to Dinah’s own so the team could compare. There seemed to be some dispute as to which shade closest matched the girl’s real eyes, with some members favouring the darker brown but others suggesting a slight hint of green. In the end, to break the deadlock, Mrs Martinez was called over to make the final choice, selecting the eyes that had a hint of green the way she knew her daughter’s did in the right light. 

“Fantastic!” The brown-haired woman smiled as the selection was noted and the samples taken away. I think that’s all we need for the moment. Now, let’s go over here and I’ll show you what will happen once we’ve removed your skin!” 

“I’d like to introduce you to Millie!” the brown-haired woman said with a grin, guiding the still-naked Dinah to the area of the room where the stuffed figures stood along with the featureless dummy.

“Millie?” Dinah asked, a little puzzled, “Is that what that little girl is called?”

“Oh, no!” the woman chuckled, “We think we did find her name in some old records but no. I’m talking about Millie the Mannequin!” She put her arm around the shoulders of the dummy. “She’s our prototype to test the design but we’ll be making one especially for you. That’s what we needed all the precise measurements for!” 

“What do you mean?” asked Dinah, full of curiosity, “What is it? She, I mean?” 

“Well,” the woman explained with a smile, “you know why the museum needed to replace the girl who’s place you’ll be taking? The fungus that destroyed her skin?” Dinah nodded, “Well we looked into it and we think it’s something to do with the stuffing that they used back then. See, people are much harder to stuff than animals, that’s why we have to use the special process we’ll explain when we’re about to do it. People don’t have fur to help disguise any stitching or odd stuffing so they had to work out how to do it. From what we can tell, having studied her before she was incinerated, they used a standard wire frame inside to act like a skeleton then filled the skin with damp soil which was easy to push into the extremities, like fingers and toes, and to mould to the right shape to fill out the buttocks and suchlike, then once the skin was stitched together it would dry out but stay mostly in place, allowing for slight pose-changes, that sort of thing.” Dinah nodded. She was not entirely sure she understood but didn’t want the nice lady to think that she was dim. Also, she was much more interested in what was planned for her than what had happened to some other girl over a century ago and hoped the woman would get to the point soon!

“Anyway, we think there were microbes or spores in that soil that grew and spread over the years and eventually erupted out onto the surface, effectively destroying the skin, and we don’t want that to happen to you so we came up with a new idea! And that’s where Millie comes in! Go ahead, touch her.” Dinah reached out and touched the chest of the androgynous figure. She had expected hard plastic like a shop window dummy but instead it was soft, jelly-like. It felt solid enough to touch but she was also sure that, with enough pressure she could push her fingers through it. 

“Millie has a wire skeleton again,” the woman explained, “but a little more complex than the Victorian ones. Hers extends down into the fingers so they can be arranged individually if the museum ever decided to display you holding something, for example. Her main body is made from a kind of gel that holds its shape. It can be pushed and squashed but will always spring back to the same shape. That why we needed close-up pictures of every part of you, including you chest and vulva…”

“My what?” Dinah asked.

“Um..” the woman sought for a word the little girl might understand. “Your pussy?” 

“Oh, right!” Dinah giggled. “But that goes in, not out?”

“See how it bulges here?” The woman knelt down again the way she had when pointing out the pressure marks left by Dinah’s clothes. She gently pressed the little girl’s smooth pubic mound. “It sticks out a little, like half and egg.” Dinah looked down and realised that she was right. She was very well aware of what she had between her legs and the pleasure it could provide with judicious application of her finger-tips but she had never given too much thought to the general contours of the area. Now that the woman pointed it out, however, she could see what she meant. “And then there’s your cute butt of course!” The woman grinned and stood up. “Wouldn’t want that to lose its shape, would we?” Dinah agreed with a giggle. 

“So that’s what Millie’s for.” The woman concluded. “We make a new one to your exact measurements and following your shape, then stretch your skin over her. That was, you should keep the exact same shape you have now and there’s nothing for corrosive fungus to breed in inside you! Plus, as a bonus, the gel mimics the consistency of muscle so to anyone touching you, you’ll still feel like a real, living girl. Other than being much colder that it!” Dinah liked that idea. She knew that she would be dead so it didn’t really matter but the more lifelike her preservation, the better it seemed to her. 

“We brought these out for you to compare.” The woman explained, guiding Dinah by the shoulders to the stuffed Victorian children. Touch them and you’ll see what I mean.” Although she had spent quite a bit of time the day before standing between these two figures, Dinah had not dared to touch them. It felt rude to do so without being told it was okay and she had been worried that they were fragile and didn’t want to break them with her carelessness. With permission now, however, she reached out and touched the girl on the arm. It felt like touching and over-stuffed leather sofa. Hard and shiny somehow. In fact, this little girl who looked to be so beautifully preserved felt far more how she had expected Millie to. 

“You’ll see there’s no give.” The woman continued. “No springiness in their skin and that they’re packed very solid.” Curiously, Dinah touched various parts of the little girl’s body with one hand using the other to compare to her own. While the stuffed girl’s bottom was cute and round it had none of the bounciness of her own and the puffy lips of her vulva were as solid as her skull. 

“Can I touch the boy too?” she asked, a little shyly. 

“Of course.” The woman smiled. “That’s what they’re here for!” Almost immediately Dinah reached out and touched his willy. It too was rock solid, despite its flaccid state. She reached under and felt for his testicles but his scrotum was simply packed solid and moulded to shape like the rest of him. Suddenly the figures seemed far less like real children but simply well-painted dolls. Dinah was very glad that she would not end up like them, that she would continue to feel soft and supple for as long as she lasted which, from what the woman had said, should be a lot longer than her predecessor. 

“Well, if you don’t have any more questions,” the woman smiled, “you can get dressed and be on your way.” She smiled over at Mr and Mrs Martinez who had been watching quietly but with just as much interest as their daughter. “I’ll give you a call in a few days when we have everything ready and we can arrange for you to bring Dinah in for final processing.”

Fortunately the following week was the beginning of the school holidays as Dinah was convinced that she would not have been able to concentrate, waiting every day for news that the team were ready for her. Heeding the advice of the head of the team, she stuck to loose-fitting summer dresses and long t-shirts when she bothered with clothes at all, often opting to simply go nude and enjoy the warmth of the sunshine on her bare skin, even when playing in the back garden, although if Dinah went outside, her mum made sure she was well covered in sunscreen, knowing how devastated the little girl would be if she lost her chance at the promise form of immortality due to sunburn! Every morning and evening her parents took turns in rubbing the special preparation cream into every inch of her soft olive skin. 

Finally, after what seemed like several months but had in fact only been a few days, the call came to say that they were ready and Dinah’s parents agreed to take her in early the next morning. Since they knew they would not be allowed to stay, Mr Martinez agreed to drive past the museum on his way to work, dropping his daughter off to meet her fate. Mrs Martinez promised that she would come along to see Dinah off and give her a final kiss before they had to leave her. 

The next morning, after one final cream application that Dinah’s dad ensured was well-documented, the Martinez family drove to the museum, the parents both dressed for work but Dinah in nothing but a nightshirt with a laughing monkey emoji on the front. The museum would not be open to the public for several hours yet and Mr Martinez wondered if they would be able to get in or whether they would have to call someone when they got there but it seemed that they were expected. As they made their way up the front steps, the Museum Director opened the door and welcomed them inside, having seen them approach on the CCTV monitor in his office. 

“Dinah, how lovely to see you again!” he beamed with genuine warmth. “Do come in! I’m afraid I can’t allow you to stay.” He spoke apologetically to Mr and Mrs Martinez, “But I do appreciate you brining Dinah in so early.”

“That’s okay.” Dinah’s mum smiled. “Everything was explained last time we were here. We just wanted to make sure she got safely handed over and to wish her luck!”

“Of course, of course.” The Director replied in a friendly tone. “You three should say your final goodbyes then, Dinah, I have something to show you that I think you’ll find interesting.” The farewell between Dinah and her parents was surprisingly unemotional as the three had made their peace with the situation during the week, sharing the tears and declarations of love that needed to be shared between them. This final goodbye seemed more as if they were simply dropping Dinah at school or, at most, sending her off for a weekend’s Brownie camp, wishing her luck, sharing brief hugs and sending her on her way with cheery smiles. “Perhaps you would like your parents to take your shirt?” The Director suggested. “You won’t need it from here on and it saves it getting lost.”

“Good idea!” Dinah agreed, quickly pulling the night-shirt over her head and exposing the body that would very soon be on public view for decades, if not centuries to come. Less than ten minutes after they had arrived and with a promise to attend the next morning’s unveiling, Mr and Mrs Martinez were back in the car and on the road. 

“What did you want to show me?” the nude little girl asked once her parents had left and the Director had locked the door behind them to prevent anyone wandering in before the museum was open. 

“Ah yes!” The Director grinned as if he had a big treat for her. With a gentle hand on her shoulders, he guided her down one of the corridors to a room she had never paid that much attention to on previous visits – the L-shaped room where the museum’s collection of bugs, butterflies and other creepy-crawlies were displayed. Most were dead and mounted as she would soon be but there were a few tanks with live specimens such as stick-insects and hissing cockroaches. Dinah peered at them as she was led past them, intrigued but still not sure what the Director was so keen for her to see. Rounding the corner, however, she spotted something larger and more intriguing that she was sure had never been there before.

Standing alone on a table in the middle of the floor so that visitors wanting to take a look could stand all around it was what looked like a long glass fish tank with a glass lid but instead of water it was filled about one quarter of the way up with soil.

“What is it?” Dinah asked, putting her hands on the glass and peering inside with interest. She noticed that it was not just soil in the tank but that various leafs were scattered around and running between them in neat rows and collecting small pieces that they they carried into tunnels down into the soil were hundreds of ants, the same shape as the ones she was used to seeing in the garden but reddish-brown rather than black and at least three times the size. 

“This is how we’re going to clean your bones ready for display.” The Director explained. Dinah looked up at him curiously, the questioning look in her eyes rendering words unnecessary. “It’s how they prepared skeleton specimens for display in Victorian times,” he told her, “and honestly there’s been no better technique developed since! Once you’ve been skinned, your intestines and other innards that can be easily removed without risking damaging your bones will be taken out and the rest of you placed in this tank, on top of the ants nest. Over the next month or so, the ants will gradually eat away any flesh and connective tissue, leaving just a nice, clean skeleton ready to be displayed behind your mounted skin.” Dinah looked in nervous wonder at the tank and wondered how it would look to see her flayed form reduced to a skeleton by the tiny army. “We thought people would find it interesting to observe the process.” The Director smiled. “That’s why we’ve put it out in the open here.” 

“So once they’ve killed me and taken my skin, my body will be put in here?” Dinah asked, still trying to get her head around this new revelation. In truth, her focus along with everyone else’s up to that point had been on her skin and how it would be preserved, she had not given her skeleton or how it was to be prepared much thought. 

“Once you’ve been skinned, you’ll be put in here for the ants to strip your bones, yes.” The Director confirmed. If Dinah noticed the way he had subtly rephrased her question in giving her answer, she did not remark upon it to herself or make any comment to him. “Until your bones are ready,” he continued as if he were a teacher delivering a lesson, “we will keep your predecessor’s skeleton on display. Once yours is ready, we will move hers to a different part of the museum to form part of a different exhibit and yours will be put in its place.” Dinah nodded.

“What happens to my guts?” She asked as he led her back out of the room and not towards the upstairs room she had met the team in before as Dinah had expected but towards the kitchen of the museum canteen on the ground floor. 

“I was thinking I might take them home for my dogs,” the Director smiled, “if you don’t mind, that is? I’m sure they’d enjoy the treat!” 

“Oh that’s fine!” Dinah replied with genuine happiness, pleased at the idea of the animals that she had always loved enjoying the viscera she would have no further use for. 

“Right, well this is where I leave you!” The Director explained as he pushed open the door to the kitchen showing the preservation team waiting inside with a somewhat more detailed gel mannequin that the one she had seen before and a quite different set of equipment, including a large metal frame with what seemed to be restraints hanging from it. “Good luck!” he patted her on the shoulder, “and I’ll see you when the process is finished!” 

“Nice to see you again, Dinah.” The brown-haired woman smiled as the small girl stepped further into the room. Dinah noticed that the three senior team members from her last visit were there but the young intern was not. She wondered if this was because he didn’t have the stomach to watch what was going to happen to her, whether he was too junior to be allowed access to the teams patented method or simply because he was not needed? “Excited?” The woman asked and Dinah replied with an enthusiastic nod and broad grin. “Great! Well, as you know, we weren’t able to explain the process to you before but, rather than boring you with all the details as I’m sure you’re as keen to get on with things as we are, I’ll explain what you need to know as we go along, is that okay?” Dinah nodded again.

“Is that my Millie?” she asked, pointing at the far more detailed mannequin stood on the same steel plate as the Victorian specimens, connected via a pole in one leg. Without waiting for an answer, she walked over to the strange figure and inspected it, glancing down from time to time at the curves and contours of her own body and comparing. It was a stunningly good reproduction, just slightly thinner and more gangly than her, presumably as it had to fit inside and fill out her skin and, if it was shaped exactly like her, it would not quite be able to do so.

“That’s right.” The woman smiled. “Beautiful isn’t she?” Dinah agreed. “You know, we need to fit her eyes before we put your skin over the top but we haven’t done it yet. We thought you might like to?”

“Can I really?” Dinah’s own eyes lit up. She loved the idea that she might help in some way to create the display, other than donating her skin and skeleton of course! “What if I mess it up and spoil her?” 

“Don’t worry,” the woman smiled, picking up a small box, “You really can’t get it wrong.” She opened the box and showed Dinah the glass eyes that would be replacing her real ones. They were a little less than half the thickness of the real eyeball and had spikes with a screw-thread on the back. The mannequin’s head had the basic contours of a face without the fine details and recessed areas where the eyes should be. Dinah saw that in the middle of these recesses, small black dots had been marked. 

“So I push them in where the dots are?” Dinah guessed correctly, “Then twist until they’re all the way in?”

“That’s right.” The woman nodded with an encouraging smile, handing the first eye to the excited little girl. Dinah carefully lined up the tip of the screw with the dot in the left socket and pushed it in so that it broke through the gel surface. She then twisted the eye clockwise, screwing it further into the head, until the back of the glass was flush with the surface. “Perfect!” The woman grinned as she handed Dinah the second eye. “You’re a natural!” Dinah beamed at the compliment, fitting the other eye then standing back to admire her work. She couldn’t help but giggle at the cartoonishly-wide eyes on the otherwise featureless face. 

“Looks like she got a shock!” Dinah remarked cheekily. “Maybe she didn’t expect the first thing she saw to be someone in the nude?” 

“Well a whole lot more people are going to be seeing you like that soon!” The woman chuckled guided Dinah over towards the frame with a hand on her shoulder. 

“Have you ever done this before?” Dinah asked, a little nervously, “Or am I your first?” 

“We carried out various experiments with cadavers,” the woman explained, “dead bodies. Mostly bodies of refugee children and people like that who’s bodies were never claimed so became government property. It really didn’t go too well until eventually we found a journal containing the notes from the team who created the original exhibit. Once we understood their secret, we were able to have a successful test run so you’ll be our second live subject. We wanted to make sure we got it right, after all! Everyone is looking forward to seeing you on display so we would hate to mess things up!” Dinah grinned, feeling important. 

“So who was the first?” she asked. 

“Someone you know, actually!” the woman grinned. “You might remember on the public Open Day when you were chosen, there was a man afterwards offering to buy the runners-up for a private collector?” Dinah did remember. The man had given her the creeps and she had not been surprised that Nina’s parents seemed to want nothing to do with him. “Well, the private collector he was working for was actually the public-spirited businessman providing funding for our project, paying us to preserve you, basically.” 

“Ah!” Dinah had wondered at the time who, other than the museum, might have wanted a stuffed young girl for their collection but if it was for part of a research project, it made a lot more sense. “So he managed to buy someone in the end?”

“Yes.” The woman confirmed. “Rebecca. We tested our technique on her and it went perfectly. She’s now on display in our office and we’ll be able to take her to show as a sample to any other clients who may be interested in our services!” Dinah imagined her pretty, freckle-faced tomboy friend stood naked in the lobby of some office building. Part of her was a little disappointed that she was not actually the first girl to receive the treatment she was about to get but, on the other hand, she was very pleased to be considered important enough not to risk experimenting on. “Right,” they arrived at the frame and the Indian lady brought over a small step-ladder and set it out across the bottom bar.

“Why are we in the kitchen, by the way?” Dinah asked as the woman guided her up the steps, holding her hands for stability. “I thought we’d be doing this in the room upstairs where we met last week?” 

“Well however careful we are,” the woman explained, “removing your skin is going to get messy. We decided it was better to work in an area that was designed to be easy to clean.”

“Ah, that makes sense.” Dinah smiled, “So, um, when are you going to kill me? And how are you going to do it?”

“Let’s get you secured.” replied the woman, with a slightly nervous edge to her voice, “Then I’ll explain what happens next.” Dinah agreed and held up her arms obligingly, ready for the restraints to be fitted. “You’ll notice the inside of the cuffs is coated with the same gel we used to make Millie, it ensures a snug fit without leaving any marks on your skin.” Dinah looked with interest as the cuffs were secured around her wrists. The inside felt warm and actually rather cosy. Next the woman guided her left foot out to the side and cuffed it like her wrists. Finally, Dinah’s right ankle was similarly secured and she was left suspended in the middle of the frame. The steps, no longer required, were taken away. 

Dinah hung there suspended in the middle of the frame for a few minutes while the team put on what look like hazmat suits with hoods and goggles to protect their eyes. Once their clothes and hair were suitably protected, the team covered near-by surfaces in plastic sheeting then two trolleys were wheeled forward. One was a typical kitchen serving trolley with some protective plastic sheeting on the top, while the other was smaller. On the top was a tray of tools like scalpels and small steel tongs and on the bottom was some sort of tank with a hose attached. There was also a large green plastic container, like a barrel people used in their gardens for collecting rain water, which seemed to be empty.

“Right, I think we’re ready to start.” The woman smiled up at Dinah. “So, just to explain what’s going to happen, we’re going to give you a couple of injections, then we will cut the skin from the top of your head, along your hair-line, so we can remove that part like a wig. We’ll then make a cut down the back of your next and a few inches down between your shoulders which should make it possible to peel the rest of your skin off in one piece. The chemicals we will be using to preserve it work very fast and strip the skin of any blood, fat or other flesh that clings to it. It should only take a few minutes to prepare your hide then we’ll fit it onto the mannequin and disguise the stitches on the back with way. The good thing is your hair will cover that seam anyway. So,” she smiled again, “ready to go?” 

“Yup!” Dinah grinned, excited, but then a thought occurred to her. “What are the injections you’re going to give me?” she asked, seeing that the black man was already filling a pair of syringes from some vials of pale-coloured liquid. “One of them sends me to sleep and the other one kills me, right?” She thought of explanations she had heard about when a sick animal needed to be put to sleep to end their suffering and assumed that a similar method was about to be used on her. 

“Well not exactly.” The woman replied tentatively. “See, this is one of the things that makes stuffing people far harder than stuffing furry animals. When you die, the blood-vessels contract and kind of suck your skin tighter onto your muscles, making it very difficult to remove neatly. The same thing happens if your body goes into shock, drawing your blood into your core. This is what we worked out from the Victorian notes and why our experiments with cadavers were never very successful.” Dinah’s mind raced – the woman had described her as their second live specimen but she had assumed that just meant someone who was alive when they started rather than someone who had already been dead for a few days. Did they really mean to skin her alive? The little girl’s heart began to beat faster as she started to panic. “David, perhaps you would like to explain?” the woman called past Dinah to the black man who stood behind her now, syringe in hand, “It’s your area of expertise after all.”

“Certainly!” The man’s voice was warm, friendly and reassuring – a fact which somehow made the information he was delivering all the more chilling. “The first is a muscle relaxant which will essentially render you unable to move beyond basic motor functions. Breathing, blinking, that sort of thing. It will also provide some degree of pain relief although it is inevitable you will experience some discomfort. The second prevents your body from going into shock and will keep you alive for up to half an hour once your skin has been removed.”

“I’ve changed my mind!” Dinah cried out in panic. “I don’t want to do this any more! Let me down!” But already the first needle was being pushing in behind her ear. She tried to protest some more but already it was difficult to control her muscles and her words came out like a strange groan.

“I’m sorry,” the brown-haired woman reached up and stroked the girls’ cheek with her latex-gloved hand, “but it’s too late. You’ve agreed to this and signed all the forms. Now just relax and we’ll get this over with as quickly as possible. We have no desire to hurt you and will do our best to keep you from experiencing any more pain than you absolutely have to.” Dinah managed to nod a little. She was starting to feel woozy, like she was only half awake. She remembered she had volunteered for this and agreed that they could do whatever they needed no. No promises had been made that she would be killed before her skin was removed and, if she had made any assumptions about that then it really was her own fault. She felt tingly all the way through, a bit like the pins and needles she got from sitting on the floor for too long. After around half a minute, the second chemical was administered. It made her feel warm and a little feverish. Satisfied that the subject was ready, the man gave a nod and the two women set to work.

It was the Indian lady who made the first cut, lifting up Dinah’s black fringe and slicing across her forehead just below the hair-line. She then carefully cut down behind her left ear. There was pain but it was not as intense as Dinah knew it should have been, more of a stinging really. Rather than continuing the cut, she moved around to the other side and cut down behind Dinah’s right ear. Only then did she join the two cuts together. Then the brown-haired woman stepped forward, took a firm hold of Dinah’s hair and pulled. 

This time there was definitely pain and Dinah felt the skin of her scalp torn away from her skull. She could feel the blood trickling down her neck and back and the hot tears running down her cheeks. It was so strange, seeing her hair held like a wig in someone else’s hands. The woman took the hose from the container on the bottom of the trolley and, with the attachment on the end, sprayed the inside of the scalp. As horrified and upset as she was, Dinah could not help but be interested in the way any blood and redness was quickly washed away leaving the inside of her skin the same colour as the outside. Her hair really did now look like a wig lined with a bald-cap. The hair was set aside and Dinah was aware of the woman with the scalpel walking around behind her. She knew that this was the main event and tried to brace herself. The exposed nerve-endings on the top of her head felt on fire and it was almost enough to distract from the blade which was now slicing down the back of her neck and between her shoulder-blades. Almost, but not completely. 

Using a pair of the metal tongs to start things off, the brown-haired woman started to pull the skin from Dinah’s face as if it were a mask that had been glued on. Her Indian colleague, who must have had some surgical training, was on hand to make the necessary delicate cuts anywhere the outer skin was connected to internal parts, such as where Dinah’s cute, pouty lips met her gums. 

“Try to relax.” The woman instructed softly as Dinah’s gurgling wails became more distressed. “Try to breath deeply if you can, it will help the drug to get around your system better. We probably should have waited a few more minutes before starting,” he admitted, letting go of the girl’s peeled face and letting it flop with a wet slapping sound onto her chest, “but the worst bit is over now, I promise.” 

The sound of the woman’s voice was a little hazy, a little indistinct, but Dinah understood her. Through her pain and fear she wondered why her hearing was strange until it occurred to her her ears were now just holes on the side of her head, lacking the round funnels that directed the sound. Despite the horrific thing they were doing to her, the woman’s voice was kind and reassuring and Dinah couldn’t help but relax just a little. She tried to focus on how the finished figure would look, how her pretty face and cute body would be preserved to be admired and enjoyed by who knew how many thousands of people over the coming decades and even centuries. Thin, bright-red blood was trickling from her forehead into her eyes. She tried to blink it away but realised she no longer had eyelids with which do so. 

“Oh, sorry!” The woman remarked, realising from the way her muscles twitched what Dinah was trying to do. “Here, this should help a little.” She picked up a bottle with a mister on top, such as someone might use to water the plants on their windowsill, and squirted it about an inch from each eyeball in turn. The cool mist was soothing and did serve to flush away the stinging blood. “I’ll do that for you every thirty seconds or so.” The woman promised and Dinah tried to smile, succeeding only in twitching the muscles in her flayed cheeks. 

Next, the man who was apparently called David came and held her firmly under her arms, supporting her wait like a father lifting their small child onto or down from something. His large, warm hands made Dinah feel safe, despite what was happening, it was almost like being hugged and she felt very grateful. Another spray came to moisten her eyes then her wrists were unstrapped. The hung loosely down as the man continued to hold her in place by the torso. Using the slit down her pack as a starting point, the two woman began using the tongs to pull the skin from her arms, shoulders and chest. Despite the pain which felt like sunburn but a hundred times worse, Dinah could not help a little internal giggle at the idea that she was being peeled like a banana!

Then, suddenly, there was no more pain. Perhaps the drug really started to kick in and work more effectively or maybe the pain-receptors in her brain had simply been over-loaded and shorted out like a plug socket with too many extensions plugged in. Either way, Dinah now felt nothing but a slight tingle as her arms were strapped back in and her ankles released so that the skin could be removed from her waist and legs, pulled inside out like a pair of tights! Her whole body was filled with a warmth like sinking into a nice hot bath or diving into a heated swimming pool on a cold day and she could not remember a time she had ever felt happier!

A little scalpel work was needed to separate her cute vulva from her vagina, not to mention the other internal pipework which came to the surface in a similar area, but soon the young girl’s skin was completely off and he hung, a flayed, bloody mess with her intestines spilling out of her belly onto the floor. She felt a slight tugging as the woman with the scalpel made a few cuts to release the viscera and let it fall onto the plastic sheeting below but nothing more. After another spray to her eyes, Dinah watched with interest as her skin was turned back the right way in and sprayed inside and out with the chemical preservative. Dinah had a much harder time relating to it than she had the hair. At least her hair had still looked like hair but, emptied out and hanging loosely like this, her skin looked nothing like her. Instead it looked more like a flesh-coloured wetsuit!

The man took over the responsibility of periodically spraying her eyes while the women set to work fixing the now clean and treated skin onto the waiting mannequin. Slowly but surely, with the women working quickly but very carefully so as not to tear or otherwise damage the specimen, the skin was pulled on to the squishy interior as if they were dressing a child in a particularly tight onesie. Tiny, surgical stitches with all-but-invisible thread were used to sew up the slit in the back and then covered over with soft wax which had been blended to perfectly match Dinah’s skin tone. After that, the face was pulled on and pinned into place with tiny, rustproof tacks that the hair would cover and finally, the hair wig was set in place and fixed. The taxidermy was complete.

Looking at the figure, Dinah was suddenly struck by the feeling that she wasn’t herself any more. The real her was stood a few meters from her, forever young and beautiful, looking back at her with glass eyes that twinkled under the overhead lights as if she was excited for her adventures to come. 

“I’d ask you what you think, but I know you can’t answer.” The brown-haired woman came and stood by her again. “I hope you approve, ‘though. You really do make a beautiful specimen!” Dinah warmed with pride. She had seen her reflection before, of course, and photographs of her own naked body but looking at herself from the outside was such a strange yet fulfilling experience. She certainly did approve of the work they had done and was very happy with the choices she had made that had brought her to this place. The pain was a memory, already fading. All she felt now was pride and happiness and a strange sensation of being a living ghost, someone who no longer exists and has already been replaced but is still around for a short time longer. 

“The drugs we gave you are very effective,” the woman explained, taking the bottle from her colleague and spraying Dinah’s eyes again, “but they can only do so much. I imagine you’ll be dead within half an hour. We need to get you to the ant farm so they can start to clean your bones, we’ll wheel you there on this trolley.” She patted the plastic-covered catering trolley Dinah had noticed before. “The museum opens in about ten minutes and I’m sure visitors will be excited to see the process. Now that we know everything has gone well, we can inform the press and unveil your taxidermy in a few hours, probably around lunch time, and then in a week or so when your bones are clean we’ll get your skeleton wired together and displayed behind you like the others.” 

Dinah heard the words but she was not really listening. As the woman had rightly observed, the drugs could only do so much and her body was going into massive shock from the skinning and evisceration. Dinah could almost feel herself staring to shut down as her spirit realised it had no further use for her ruined body. Her entire focus was on the beautiful figure of the naked, olive-skinned young girl with stunning green-brown eyes and long, jet black hair smiling at her from across the room. The real Dinah. 

“I’m going to remove your eyes now.” The woman explained. “We won’t be able to keep them moisturised while you’re in the ant nest so it’s better to take them out. This shouldn’t hurt but you might feel a little tugging then it will go dark.” Using finger and thumb, the woman took a grip of Dinah’s right eyeball and pulled it forward, snipping the optic nerve with a pair of surgical snips. The last thing Dinah saw before her right eye was removed, plunging her into safe, comforting darkness forever, was her own smiling face.

Although she could no longer see and only had a vague idea what was happing around her, Dinah was aware of being taken down from the frame, almost like the painting of Jesus being taken down from the cross that she had seen in a different part of the museum, and laid on the trolley. She was slightly aware of the trundling motion as she was wheeled through the corridors to the Hall of Bugs where she was once again lifted and placed gently in the tank with the ants before the lid was put back in place. It felt nice in there, cosy, like a nice soft bed. She was ready to sleep. It had been a very busy morning and now it was time to rest. 

“Is it still alive, Mummy?” a small girl asked, standing on tiptoes to look at the thing being nibbled all over by hundreds of ants. She wasn’t sure what it was. The lady in the corner had told them that it was a girl but it didn’t look like any girl she had seen before. 

“I wouldn’t have thought so.” The mother replied, leaning in for a closer look. 

“It is, Mummy, look!” the little girl who was maybe four or five years old bounced excitedly, “It’s breathing!” But by the time the mother looked, the chest was no longer moving. Dinah was at peace.

Three months later, Margaret, a retired school teacher who volunteered at the museum twice a week was making her rounds, completing the tasks expected of volunteers after closing time. There were monthly, weekly and daily jobs and now she was conducting her favourite weekly duty – dusting off and gently brushing the hair of the taxidermy figures in the Human Development display. She was particularly fond of the new girl with her long, raven mane and could not get over how much more lifelike she seemed than the older specimens. She half expected the little girl to start wandering around the glass-fronted space and asking questions about the skeletons, including her own which had been added to the display a few weeks earlier. 

Moving on from the new girl, she started to brush dust off the shoulders of the boy in the next couple, the teenager, but noticed as she did so a small patch of black on the skin of his right shoulder-blade. Retrieving the spray-bottle from the supply cabinet inside the stand on which the babies were displayed, she squirted on the anti-fungal bleach and wiped it away. The black mark was gone for now but she knew it would come back and very soon this figure would need replacing too. She wouldn’t be surprised, she thought to herself, if over the next few years the whole display needed updating. Probably for the best, she thought, people looked a bit different nowadays, what with the changes in lifestyle and improvements in medicine over the last century or so, and it would be nice if the display better represented the current broad ethnic mix of their little town rather than the all white Victorian specimens. 

Returning to the office, Margaret took out the folder where she was supposed to record any changes or damage to any of the displays and found the section for the preserved figures. In the corner of the office was a small TV that Margaret liked to have on in the background when she was working alone. The show she was tuned in to was a sort of compilation show where the host showed and humorously commented on weird and wonderful pieces of footage from around the world. The current clip was from an American chat show where a pretty young girl of maybe nine or ten was sat on the sofa wearing nothing but white leather cowboy boots and a white Stetson decorated with pink rhinestones. Margaret looked up curiously, the girl’s curly blonde hair, aggressively American beauty-pageant looks and noticeable southern drawl putting her in mind of a very young Dolly Parton. Curious as to why someone would be on television in such a state of undress, especially such a young girl, Margaret set the form aside and turned up volume so she could hear exactly what was being said. 

“…and that’s why I think every girl should have the right to be cooked and eaten if she wants to be!” The girl concluded, shooting a dazzling smile first at the host and then directly into the camera. 

“Well I wish you luck with your campaign!” The host replied, clearly a little nonplussed himself. “And maybe if you’re still around this time next year, you can come on again and tell us how it’s going?”

“I surely will!” The girl agreed, once again flashing her pearly-white teeth. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the host turned towards the audience and held out his hand to indicate his young guest, “Sidney Roebuck!” There were wild cheers and applause from the studio audience. Margaret chuckled and shook her head as she turned the volume back down to background levels. Thinking of the cup of sweet tea she would treat herself to once the evening’s paperwork was complete, she returned her attention to the form.


End file.
